


we've got one thing in common (it's this tongue of mine)

by thhimble



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: America's heroes are in it to win it, Chris Evans got good stroke game, F/M, Henry Cavill's BDE, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Size Kink, Squirting, Threesome - F/M/M, but like, soft squirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28245111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thhimble/pseuds/thhimble
Summary: The night slides together with alcohol and laughter, with a building, body-thrumming heat trapped between the three of you and growing brighter.There’s no hesitation, no doubt, the idea’s been in your mind since Chris pressed a kiss to the top of your shoulder and wrapped an arm around your waist while Henry leaned forward to say something into your ear, his eyes shifting from yours to Chris and back again.
Relationships: Chris Evans (Actor)/Reader, Chris Evans (Actor)/You, Henry Cavill/Chris Evans/Reader, Henry Cavill/Reader, Henry Cavill/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 135





	we've got one thing in common (it's this tongue of mine)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [I_Karnstein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Karnstein/gifts).



> It's pure filth close your eyes

* * *

* * *

You’re tipping into that tipsy that makes everything _just_ that much smoother; that sheen, filter, ease to the world that makes everything _just_ that much better.

You aren’t even sure how you ended up here.

Chris, _just Chris, doll, forget the last name,_ is pressed up behind you, his hands on your hips and his breath in your ear as you move to the electric-tipped beat pounding through the bar.

Your fingers slide over the nape of his neck, scratching the short, prickly hairs at the base of his skull, his skin is warm, his hands are hotter. You let your head fall back against his shoulder, his mouth traces your pulse, and you can feel every hard curve, every shift of his muscles, from his chest pressing against your shoulders, his abs shifting along your spine, and the weight of his hips, that bulk in his jeans, rubbing against the curve of your ass every time you roll your hips back against him.

You can see Henry, through the shifting lights, your head tilted back enough to watch him the way he watches you. Drink in hand, leaning against the railing of the upper floor.

He meets your eyes, your heart pounds, Chris’ hand slides across your stomach to pull you tighter into the grind of his hips.

 _Distracted,_ he says and nips your pulse. You laugh a little, your eyes closing, trying to sink back into the beat, but you know Henry’s still watching, still there; imprinted behind your eyelids, dark-eyed, dark-haired with a voice like…

 _(It’s your smile,_ he says, leaning closer, voice just loud enough to carry, his hand coming up, his finger brushing into the curve of your cheek where you can feel the heat of your skin, that little ache of smiling too much. _)_

You open your eyes, Henry’s there, lifting his drink to his mouth, water, you think, just like you’ve switched to because you know where this is going.

You’ve known it for a while now, this burning bit of warmth in the bottom of your stomach, lingering between your hips with every glance, every laugh, every slick-fingered knock of a drink or a shot as the night went on.

Chris’ hand tightens on your hip and you grip the back of his neck, your eyes locked on Henry as you roll your hips back, letting your head loll a little, heavy-lidded, full of that alcohol-ease and something hotter, slicker, like the heat of Chris’ body, like the burn of a shot without any chaser.

 _Yeah_ , you think, _you know where this is going._

There’s no preamble, there’s no, _are you coming with,_ no, _are you sure—_

You slide from a bad first date to Chris’ laughter, to Henry offering you a drink and a smile, _you could do better,_ to a round of shots and dancing, to the back of a black car and the gilded, too nice marble floors of a hotel lobby.

The night slides together with alcohol and laughter, with a building, body-thrumming heat trapped between the three of you and growing brighter.

There’s no hesitation, no doubt, the idea’s been in your mind since Chris pressed a kiss to the top of your shoulder and wrapped an arm around your waist while Henry leaned forward to say something into your ear, his eyes shifting from yours to Chris and back again.

And it’s not until the hotel door _thuds_ closed and Henry’s hand is hot on the back of your neck, dragging you into his body, his thumb pressing up on the edge of your jaw to tilt your head higher, that you wonder if you’re making a mistake.

Not because you don’t know if you want it— not because of the alcohol or the bad date, (that left you feeling a little stupid and upset,) but because there— right there in the heat of his mouth, the sharpness of his teeth, the way he crowds you against the closed door and takes— just _takes—_ like your breath is his and your mouth is his and his thumb slides over your pulse like he knows the exact moment your lungs are empty…and leaves you gasping, open-mouthed and swollen-lipped—

is the very real realisation that they might wreck you for anyone else.

His grin is sharp and he touches his forehead to yours while you’re still gasping for air. “Only fair,” he mutters, “Evans’ got the first.”

Chris snorts behind him, and it’s only then you register the lights coming on, a soft warm glow from the side table lamps, the clink of glasses, the _shnick_ of the mini-fridge opening.

“Just ‘cause you don’t dance, old man.”

“You’re older than me,” Henry huffs, but he’s reaching down, his hands wide and heavy on your hips as he hauls you up into his arms, letting you wrap your legs around his waist as his teeth scrape your neck. “Asshole.”

“Yeah,” Chris laughs. “But you act ten years older.”

“Not true,” Henry mutters, but he’s sinking back into the couch, manhandling you until you’re settled on his lap and you’re sucking in a breath, feeling the bulk of his cock trapped in his slacks.

You card your fingers into Henry’s hair as his lips brush hotly over your neck, as you squirm into the weight of his cock, pressing down and his voice is a rolling, rumbling sort of thing you can feel in your stomach, your cunt, your fucking _toes._

“God, that’s good,” you breathe out and Henry smiles into your skin.

“ _This_ is a much better kind of dancing, isn’t it?” he hums into your skin and you nod, because _yeah_ , _it really is._ Even if it has more to do with the man beneath you and the cock you’re grinding against than the idea of a lap-dance in general.

His hands slide, all thick and warm and heavy along your thighs, up under the edges of your dress, a long-slow stroke that leaves you grinding down harder until you get that pressure right against your clit, the zipper on his pants pressing against you, his cock thick and hot even through the layers, spreading your lips, dragging your underwear slick and damp between them.

Henry breathes out into your shoulder as your arms wrap around his neck, clinging on because _holy shit_ it feels good— that perfect sort of pressure and heat that spills extra dirty, makes you think back, trip back, to being younger and grinding against your palm, a pillow, still trying to figure out what felt good.

You’re pretty sure he knows exactly how good it is for you.

There’s the clink of ice next to your ear and Chris is there holding out a drink, it’s something fizzy and clear when you manage to drag your head up from Henry’s shoulder, blinking at the other man and his hand.

Henry snorts into your neck, nipping your shoulder before his hands are on your hips, beneath your dress, pushing you back just enough to throw off that perfect bit of pressure.

You whine, your whole body _wanting_ ; Chris grins and rolls the glass a little. You glare at Henry and tell yourself there _isn’t_ a pout on your mouth, but by the way his lips twitch up, you aren’t so sure you believe your own lie.

“Sorry,” he grins but doesn’t look at all sorry. You huff and hear the clink of the ice again, looking over at Chris.

“Doll,” Chris starts and when you pull in a breath and let it out in a sigh, trying to find some patience for that needy thing that’s hot and warm between your hips, you reach for the glass, only to have it pulled back, and instead you get Chris’ hand at the nape of your neck, tugging you back a little, an awkward lean that leaves you gasping, held in place by Chris’ hand and Henry’s grip sliding to your ass.

Chris kisses you hard, his mouth is cool, touched by alcohol and the fizz of the drink, his tongue slick against yours.

Your hands tighten on Henry’s shoulders, feeling his fingers press in, slinking along the edge of your underwear, bunching it up more over the curves of your ass until it’s just skin beneath his palms.

When Chris lets you go, it’s with a grin and another roll of the glass, his eyes dark and his hair mussed from your hands earlier. “All’s fair.”

“Didn’t know we were keeping score,” you say breathlessly, taking the cool drink and swallowing it down, only just realizing how thirst you are, feeling it slide, cold and bright down your throat to settle in your stomach.

When you drain it, you breath out, your hand hovering with the empty glass as you wipe the back of your hand across your mouth, feeling the heat in your lips, the swollen warmth in them.

Chris slips the glass from your fingers, laughing as he drops down unto the other side of the small couch, leaning back into the corner in an easy slouch; he refills the glass with something out of a bottle, holding it out again.

Henry tugs you back in for another kiss, hard and quick before he’s tapping your ass cheek and pushing on your hip, tilting you towards Chris. You go easily, crawling over the short distance until your sliding into Chris’ lap, only half aware of Henry taking the glass Chris had poured and downing it almost as quickly as you had.

Chris’ lips are shiny with the drink and you lick the taste out of his mouth, letting him wrap his arms around you; the feeling of his beard, when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, prickles inside of your belly like it does on your skin.

For a minute, it’s just like you’re back at the club, with the weight of Henry watching you and Chris dance, the feeling of Chris around you, his hips twitching up as yours roll down… but it’s too quiet, just your breathing and theirs, the very distant sounds of late-night traffic so far down below the hotel room.

It trips inside of you, like the fizz of the drink, being here, suddenly—

You aren’t really sure you believe this is actually happening.

“Distracted,” Chris says, mouthing over your cheek. And you aren’t sure how he knows every time, but he does and you groan a little as he bites and sucks down your neck, tilting your head back and trying to gather your mind.

His hand eases up your thigh, under your dress, feeling how Henry left your underwear. He grunts into your neck and palms your cheek in a hard grip.

You look to Henry, who’s in that same sort of easy slouch Chris was, turned a little towards the other end of the couch, his back in the corner of it, watching you.

“Have you guys done this before?” you ask him, because your curious, because they seem so… calm, _sure,_ confident in a way that’s broad-shouldered and steady. Sharp-toothed and hot-mouthed like every kiss you get swept up and swallowed by.

Henry laughs and shakes his head. “Can’t say I have.”

Chris laughs and nips your neck. “That’s a nope from me, too,” he says and when you look back at him, he sits a little straighter, wrapping the thick of his arms around your waist and hugging you to his chest and looking up at you.

“Really?”

Feeling your own smile on your mouth just at the way he’s smiling at you, you run your fingers through his hair, tilting his head a little higher before kissing him.

His heart beats against yours and there’s something easing about it, that physical closeness that isn’t just sex.

Until his hand smacks down on your ass and you yelp, jolting in his grip and huffing at his laughter.

“ _Really, really._ We don’t make a habit of picking up girls in clubs in clubs just for a good ol’ tag team.”

You laugh. “I think we missed the tag team bit already,” you tease and steal a quick kiss when he lifts an eyebrow. “Pretty sure that’s more… you know, _one_ of you and _then_ the other. You two have basically kissed already.”

Chris’ face scrunches with laughter and you hear Henry’s echoing behind it, his head tilting back onto the couch.

“True, true!” Chris laughs. “Supes and Cap have swapped spit, it’s official.”

“Crossover of the century,” Henry laughs and you grin at him, sliding out of Chris’ lap and crawling back over to him.

You hear Chris’ _hey—_ behind you, but clamber back onto Henry’s lap and grin at him as Henry kisses your jaw. “No tag-teaming,” you pout when you look at Chris. “It’s about equality.”

Chris laughs and raises his hands in surrender as Henry huffs into your neck. “Can’t argue with that.”

“And no high-fiving,” you say, your eyes flicking to Chris and back to Henry, leaning back to look at you, his eyebrow tilting up. “That’s a rule.”

“High-fiving?”

You nod. “No high-fiving, like _good job, bro—Got ‘em!_ ”

Chris’ laugh is loud and deep, _got ‘em—_ his hand touching his chest as his head tilts back and Henry’s is deep and rolling against your body, nipping at your jaw as he tugs you closer, his hands on your hips, letting you find that same spot as before.

“Alright,” he forces out around a slowing laugh. “But I think that means I should get a dance, too.”

You look to Chris, who lifts his hand and gives it a little ‘ _go on’_ sort of roll, wiping a hand over his face and still chuckling. “ _Equality_ ,” he says and lifts his own drink to his lips with a smirk. “Since we’ve been banned from _high fives._ ”

You grin and laugh, your hips winding until you feel that bump of the seam of Henry’s pants, the weight of his cock beneath it. Your body hums for the feeling of it, your mouth opening to pull in a breath as it sparks through you, grinding down right against it to chase that feeling.

It kills the laughter and replaces it with that heat that’s been building between the three of you all night; a swell of it, like it was a little dormant ember in your belly and all it took was a little spark to bring it back to life.

Henry palms your ass, gropes it to tug you tighter before his hands slide up the back of your dress, over your hips— you can feel your dress climbing, the cool air on your skin, but Henry kisses you and his mouth is so hot that you can’t pay much mind to the exposure until you hear Chris next you, his voice rough.

“That’s a fuckin’ sight.”

You can only imagine it, as Henry’s hand slide up your sides, your dress caught, bunched up over his wrists— the rolling grind of your hips, the shift of your ass, the bunch of your underwear stuck between your cheeks, the damp spot you can feel growing along the front of Henry’s pants on every slow-weighted roll of your body. 

You feel Henry’s hand inching along your spine, his fingers gathering up the silky fabric of your underwear, bunching it tighter to pull tighter, dragging through the slickness between your legs, adding even more pressure to your clit every time you grind down.

You whine into Henry’s mouth and grip onto him tighter, pressing against his chest as he tugs it again, his mouth hot on your cheek, his voice rough and warm.

“Can you come from this?”

 _No,_ you think, because it’s _not_ that easy— but he winds the fabric around his fingers once and it pulls it tighter, and every tug, every roll of your body, every grind down against that teasing, thick weight of his cock trapped beneath the layers of his clothing.

 _“Yes,”_ you choke out and he grins against your cheek as you turn your head to look at Chris, his eyes burning, moving from your body to your face and back again.

He moves then, standing from the couch and moving behind you. You feel his hand on the straps of your dress, his fingers grazing along your skin, pushing the straps down your shoulders.

You tilt your head up, and the kiss is awkward but his mouth is hot as he leans lower to lick into your mouth, his fingers on the zipper on the back of your dress, easing it down your back. Your dress pools open, Henry sucks a mark into your neck, his hand gripping your hip tighter, urging the roll of your body as Chris works the band of your bra open.

You feel it loosen, feel Chris’ hands sliding over your shoulders, down your arms, tugging your bra out from between the press of your body against Henry’s.

Your nerves flair for a second, just one sparking second at the idea of being naked between two men— but Chris’ hands are cupping your breasts and Henry’s tilting you back and his hips are twitching up just this _little_ bit— inching rolls that tease the idea of him fucking you, of the weighted roll of his cock moving inside of you and there’s nothing but the grind of your hips, that slick, wet glide of your cunt against his lap, the tug of his fingers pulling your underwear, sliding it against your clit every time your hips roll back.

His thumb slides over your nipple, trapping it against the side of his finger as he gropes you, adding this sparking, tingling surge of pleasure like a spark, winding through your body.

You hitch a moan, feeling yourself spilling closer and closer to that edge, you head falling back against Chris’s shoulder, and it can’t be comfortable for him, leaning down the way he is, but his mouth is hot on your neck and he sucks a mark, worries your skin, pinching and rolling your nipples between slow, hot-palmed gropes at your breasts.

You aren’t even sure when your eyes shut, only that they do, sometime around the time a slick noise starts up between the sound of your moans and their breathing; the sticky grind of your cunt against your soaked underwear and Henry’s lap.

You spill closer to the edge, your cunt throbbing with it, clit aching, it’s right there _, right there_ —

And your lips are moving, your voice a whine, a hitching moan, _oh god, oh god—_

One of them groans, and you wonder if it’s enough to make Henry come too, but he’s still hard beneath you as you lose your body to the sparking rush of the orgasm he grinds you into; a slow-building, slow-easing one, thighs trembling, toes curling, chest quivering as Chris groans into your neck, gripping harder on your breasts.

He tilts your head back as Henry’s fingers ease out of your underwear, giving it a few more little tugs until your whimpering, twitching your hips against his lap; Chris kisses you with his hand on the back of your head, tilting over you a bit more.

Henry strokes your thighs, your sides, palming your ass as you hum a soft moan into Chris’ mouth, your body still sparking on every stickier, slower roll of your hips against Henry.

“Doll,” Chris grins, kissing your cheek with a laugh. “That was hot as _fuck_.”

Your head lolls against his shoulder again, but he’s pressing another kiss to your cheek before standing straighter, letting Henry pull you back into a seated position on his lap, his hand sliding up your spine to keep you steady until you can get your body to work.

As good as you feel when Henry licks into your mouth, his kiss is the sort of hard and demanding that makes your insides spark up again, like all your orgasm was was a slow exhale over a flame and Henry’s mouth is the fire feeding itself brighter.

You reach between your bodies, feeling the shift of the couch as Chris sinks back into the other side, your fingers finding the skin-warmed heat of Henry’s belt. His hand cups your jaw, tilting your head to kiss you harder— the first clink of his belt, the slide of leather—

Henry’s hand slides down to cup your throat, a little bit of building pressure as he breaks the kiss and pushes you back, sitting you straighter. Your spine tightens, your fingers curling along his belt as you suck in a breath, your pulse tripping, his thumb sliding on the side of your neck.

“Not there yet,” he says roughly, his hand tightens just a little more before he kisses you, stealing what little breath you have and there’s a building pressure as his hand flickers tighter— just before his mouth breaks away and he turns you and pushes you back roughly, dropping you back against the seat cushions.

Your breath leaves your lungs in a rush, pulse sparking; your head lands on Chris’ thigh and you blink up at him, his hand already slipping over the same spot Henry’s was, his thumb pressing into your pulse point.

“Hey there,” he grins and leans down to kiss you. It’s distracting, shifting from kissing one to the other, feeling the softer slide of Chris’ hand along your throat, palming your breast again, thumb sliding slowly over the peak of your nipple.

It winds through you, a teasing stroke, and you're distracted enough by his mouth and hand that you’re only half aware of Henry moving between your thighs until Chris breaks the kiss and you both watch as he pushes your dress up over your hips, leaving it bunched around your middle, exposing the slickness between your thighs the way your underwear is stuck, sticky and twisted between your lips.

It’s a perverse sort of hot, even to you, and if the resounding groans that tumble out of both of them are clear enough, you’re not the only one who thinks so.

Henry’s finger slides right down the middle of you, right along the bunch and twisted silk covering your cunt, _just_ brushing, _just teasing_ over the swollen, damp heat of your clit beneath the silk.

You whimper and twitch and Chris’ hand twitches on your throat, keeping you still. You’re all watching as Henry slides his thumb along the soaked edge of your underwear, his thumbnail this little sharp spark that makes your insides twist.

“You gonna eat her out?” Chris asks, his voice rough. Henry nods, his eyes flicking up to yours as his thumb presses that much harder along the side of your cunt, slipping just a little beneath the twisted-up seat of your underwear, his thumb slick and hot, stroking through the mess of your release.

“Been dying to,” he says, watching his thumb slide along your cunt before looking back up at you. “Yeah?”

You nod eagerly, your insides burning with the idea of him _thinking_ about it, your mind tripping back to the bar, the way he looked at you…

“He’s got a thing for eating pussy,” Chris says like Henry isn’t between your thighs with this _look_ on his face that makes your cunt clench. “You learn some things about a guy when you drink together enough.”

Henry grins. “True.”

You watch him shift closer and you wonder if the front of his pants are as wet as you feel, and it’s a hot little thought, that you’re soaking into his lap still but that he’s shifting and kneeling on the floor, dragging your hips to the side as he tugs at the twisted-up underwear on your hips and yanks them down your legs.

Chris pulls you up a little, his hand sinking over your stomach and over your mound, his fingers push over it, pressed together until they split into a v, spreading your lips open between his fingers. “Fuckin’ _pretty_.”

 _Chris,_ you whine, your face burning, your hips squirming against nothing as the cool air brushes the wet heat of you, as they both just look—

And then Henry’s mouth is on the inside of your thigh and his teeth are sharp and deep and you’re crying out this tripping sort of whine as your knees jerk up and Chris’ fingers find your clit.

It’s sudden and too much and your eyes clench shut for the feeling of it all, for Chris’ thumb stroking soothingly over your cheek, but his fingers hot and weighted, rubbing this perfect sort of pressure over the sensitive, swollen heat of your clit.

Your face turns into Chris’ lap and his cock is right there, hard and thick in his pants and you move trembling fingers, trying to get your body to work because—

_Someone— one of them— needs to get a dick out._

Chris laughs and you realise you said it out loud. He looks down at you, lifting a brow, but lets you fumble with his pants; he shifts back, sinking lower in the seat, his fingers still stroking your clit and distracting you.

Henry’s mouth comes off your thigh, but he’s licking, kissing, nipping along the inner curve, his thumbs stroking closer and closer—

Chris rubs you again, a heavier sort of push of his fingers before they slip wetly over your mound and up your stomach to cup your breast again; sliding a sticky finger over your nipple. A grin on his mouth as he tilts a brow at you when you yank at the button of his pants in frustration.

“Having some trouble?”

“C’mon,” you whine and then gasp as Henry hikes your leg over his shoulder and his mouth— his tongue— the heat of him is right _there_.

It steals your thoughts, making your spine arc, your body squirm— his tongue heavy and wide, licking you up from leaking core to swollen clit, rolling over you until he presses his face harder into you and _sucks_.

There’s nothing in you but that feeling, your hips twitching into his face, a jerky roll of your body to chase that pressure. Your face twists, your body burns, Henry’s mouth is—

“ _F-fuck_ —” you sob and feel Chris’ hand soothing over your cheek, his breath warm as he leans closer and kisses your forehead.

“Oh _doll,_ ” he rumbles into your skin. “You should see yourself.”

His hands slides over your stomach, gathering the bunched-up of fabric of your dress around your waist, and you can only imagine what you look like, hair mussed, body burning up, muscles trembling, hips rolling against Henry’s face.

You turn your head into Chris’ lap and he tugs on your dress; it's this weird sort of binding around your middle, a pulse-spiking reminder that they’re strong enough to move you, manhandle you, to keep you where you are or make you go where they want you to go—

 _God,_ you shouldn’t like that as much as you do.

His hand strokes over your head, and it’s almost soft as he cups your breast again, playing teasingly with your nipple while Henry nips your clit with the sharp of his teeth and makes you insides twist tighter when he chases that nip with the flat of his tongue.

You get Chris’ pants open, but he has to shift to get his cock out, taking over for your unsteady hands as you try to focus, but with Henry’s mouth on you, it’s nearly impossible.

“G-god—” you hitch, giving into another burst of pleasure that pushes you closer to the edge as Henry’s thumb slides along the inside of your thigh, brushes along the slick curve, that tense, shaking tendon… brushes closer edging along your entrance, sliding thick and warm around it.

“Fuck— _Henry_ ,” you whine and you swear he smiles into your cunt, pushing his thumb that much closer, edging around your hole, a teasing weight, the tip of his thumb _just_ edging in. “ _Asshole—_ ” you choke out, your hips hitching down, trying to chase his thumb, to fill that ache between your hips, that need that leaves you clenching around nothing.

Chris laughs, low and warm and it's only then you open your eyes to the sight of his cock right next to your head, his hand stroking it, slowly, thick and long and _Jesus, Jesus—_ you think, _how is that fair?_

You reach for him, and it’s an awkward angle and you can’t really breath right, not with the way every breath is broken by the noises Henry drags out of you on the tip of his tongue.

But you curve your hand around him, revelling in the thick throb of his cock in your palm, that iron-hard heat beneath the smooth skin.

Chris groans, his head dropping back against the couch. You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple, the thick of his throat as he swallows, the shift of his shoulders as you stroke him… his hand gripping harder onto your breast.

“God, babe—” he groans at nearly the same time you feel the slip of Henry’s thumb dipping inside of you.

It’s just the tip, just enough to tease, circling your hole wetly, before sliding up and out and circling along the edge again.

You whine, you don’t even care how wanting it sounds. “Henry—” you choke, and roll your hips, searching for more. “Fuck— _please_ —”

Henry hooks his thumb inside of you, stretching you, his tongue hot and wet and dipping inside along with it, stroking up and over the spread of you as his thumb presses a little deeper. He does it again, easing his thumb back to circle you before sinking it in… this slow steady rhythm that’s maddening, mind-tripping, pulse-spiking.

You can’t stay still, trying to roll further onto his thumb, gripping at Chris’ cock, your head turning toward it and you think about having it in your mouth, the weight of him on your tongue, but everything is wrapped up in that thumb, hooked inside of you.

“Distracted,” Chris teases, with this crooked smile that’s undone by the heat in his eyes. “Poor baby.”

“You do it,” you say, because the idea of it… of him using your mouth is hotter than anything you’ve really ever thought about. (Just a late-night, stomach-tensing fantasy, your fingers on your clit, your head pushing back into your pillow: a cock in your mouth, another inside of you, being taken apart, being _wanted_ that _much. That’s it,_ they’d growl, _look at how good you take it._ )

Chris looks down at you, his eyes narrowing, glancing at your mouth and then back to your eyes. It’s a moment to make sure, you think, to make sure you both understand what you’re asking for—

And you do, you think, you really, really do.

Chris’ hand knots into your hair, twisting your head a little more before he takes over your grip on his cock and feeds it into your mouth.

He’s hot and thick and you taste that bitter edge of precum, but he’s hitting the back of your throat and stretching your mouth wide and it’s _perfect_ and perverse when his hips start to inch up as his hand tightens to hold you still.

It’s not hard, not like that deep-throat fucking you’ve seen in porn, because you aren’t sure it’s even possible with how your lips are stretched and your jaw is already as wide as it can go… but Chris rolls his hips up in these little pulses and you breathe as best as you can around the thick of his cock, pressing your tongue along the thick shaft, moaning around it when you feel Henry’s thumb push a little deeper.

It’s better than any slick-fingered fantasy.

You feel Henry’s mouth easing back and you almost whine for the loss before you hear him spit—

And your body burns bright at the feeling and idea of it, but he’s pushing two wet fingers inside of you and all you can do is moan around Chris’ cock, your body straining, back arcing as his fingers push in, curving up and rubbing right against that bundle of nerves.

You can’t suck in the breath you need, and you choke a little, moaning around his cock, but Chris soothes a hand along your cheek and your hips shift up in these needy pulses, trying to ride that cresting, burning wave of pleasure that fills up your body, sparking out from Henry’s fingers inside of you.

Chris’s other hand weighs down on your breast as your body trembles and squirms, half to get more, half to get away, until Henry curves his arm over your hips and pins you down.

You reach for Henry’s head because it’s almost too _much—_ but his mouth finds your clit again, and there’s no escaping the build of your orgasm; an electrical wave of it, like a cracking flame between your hips, burning through your limbs, sparking inside of you as his fingers rub and stretch and rub and stretch—

You choke around Chris’ cock as you come; broken whimpers and choked moans, shoving at Henry’s head with the unsteady tips of your fingers.

Chris eases the roll of his hips, his cock slipping hotly out of your mouth using your spit to stroke himself right over your lips; his eyes moving from your face to your cunt and back again.

You pull in uneven breaths, feeling the heat in your lips, the tingling feeling of his cock rubbing over them. Your spine twitches up, your fingers twisted into Henry’s hair, your whole body trembling as you whimper every time Henry licks slowly, hotly over you, his fingers still buried deep.

“My turn,” Chris says and it’s the only warning you get before your being manhandled, Henry pushing your legs up and towards Chris while Chris pushes your upper body up and over to Henry’s side of the couch.

Your find your head in Henry’s lap, and you can barely blink at him before you feel Chris’ mouth on your clit.

There’s no warning; Chris sucks at your clit and sinks his fingers inside you, two sinking deep, pushing hard and steady right against your cunt like he’s fucking you with them, before pulling them back and doing it again.

“ _Sh-fuck_ —” you cry out, pushing at his head, but Henry catches your hands and pushes them together against the arm of the couch.

His mouth is hot and his tongue is slick with the taste of your cunt, his cheeks slippery beneath the rougher brush of his stubble…and it’s hot— weird, _perfect_ to lick yourself out of his mouth until you’re groaning out over his cheek when Chris sinks a third finger inside of you.

“Come on, angel, one more,” Henry says roughly, his hand sliding along your jaw, his thumb under your chin, keeping your eyes on his.

It’s a lie, you think, it’s not going to be _one_ more.

“ _Please_ ,” you sob, your thighs trembling around Chris’ shoulders. You aren’t even sure if you mean _please, it’s too much,_ or _please, just fuck me_. Because his fingers are wide but his cock is thick and you can’t think about anything else but feeling it, clenching around it… filling that bit of hunger low in your gut that even their fingers can’t quite sate.

But you’re already too close to the edge, still strung-out and wound-up by Henry’s mouth, and Chris’ focus on that bundle of nerves inside of you shoves you right back over the edge. You come hard and fast, your cunt clenching around his fingers, hearing the slick rush of your orgasm as he works you through it.

There’s no word for the sound that comes out of you, some whining sob, over-sensitive with every nerve on fire, your body strung tight, your mind completely consumed by the sparking edges of it racing through your whole body in a way you’ve never felt before.

“I think she just squirted a little.” Chris laughs into your cunt and curves his fingers. You kick his shoulder with an unsteady, shaky leg.

“Fu-ck off— did not,” you groan and Henry huffs a little laugh, looking to Chris and then back to you, his eyebrow tilting.

“Can you?”

You shake your head, because _no,_ you think, _I’ve never— that’s not possible—_ but your words are trapped in your throat and beneath the drum-beat of your pulse in your ears, that full-body hum of your orgasm and you can’t get your brain to work enough to say any of it.

But Chis lifts his fingers and holds them out for both of you to see and watch as your orgasm _drips_ off of his fingers and splatters against your belly.

“You sure?”

You suck in a breath, watching it slide over your stomach, shiny and wet and so obvious it makes your body burn.

Henry groans a little, pressing a kiss to your hot lips. “Guess we’ll find out, huh?”

You whine in your throat, shaking your head again, even if your cunt clenches at the idea of it, as Henry’s hand slides down your throat and over your chest until he cups your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

It’s a softer spark compared to the ache between your hips, but it’s a little, tingling burst of heat prickling through your body, keeping you wanting.

Kneeling on the couch, Chris tugs off his Henley, his muscles shifting, abs flexing— and it’s a sight you’ll remember, you think, the way he shoves down his pants with one hand while ripping open a condom with his teeth.

He has more tattoos, you realise, more than the glimpse of the one you saw in the ‘v’ of his shirt, more black ink on his chest, that you can’t quite make out, an eagle on—

You’re on your belly before you can register Chris’ hands on your hips. Your face in Henry’s lap and his cock hard against your cheek. It makes your cunt clench, your insides spark, rubbing your cheek along that bulk, your nerves sparking because it feels thick and heavy and too fucking big.

Henry groans and his hips twitch up as Chris hauls your hips up almost as quickly as his palm smacks down; the slap is loud and sharp and you cry out and bury your moan into Henry’s lap.

“Fuck,” one of them says, but your too— sparking, caught up, _lost_ in the moment to figure out who said it when Chris’ palm smacks down again.

“Fuck, doll, your ass,” Chris groans and then you feel his cock, nudging along the soaked heat of your cunt, thick and hot and pressing in. It’s a slow press, the stretch steals your breath and leaves you gasping, open-mouthed at Henry’s cock; his hand bracing on the nape of your neck as you curl your fingers into his belt just for something to hold onto.

You _feel_ like a doll, you think, held in place as Chris’ cock splits you open, his hands bruising on your hips, Henry’s cock beneath your cheek, his thumb stroking soothingly over your skin. You can’t get your body to work, too strung out by the feeling of Chris pushing inside of you so slow and steady.

His hand slides from your ass cheek to your lower back, and he presses down on the arc of your spine, tilting your ass higher as he bottoms out, his hips pushing tightly against your ass.

You gasp and try to shift forward, because he’s long and thick and you feel stuffed by it, this sharp little spark deep in your gut…

“Maxed out,” Chris says with a breathless laugh that’s more like a groan. “ _Fuck_ that’s good.”

You’re panting on Henry’s lap, turning your face to gasp for cooler air, letting out a jolting curse as Chris’s palm smacks down again before he rubs over the heat of your skin his palm left behind.

“Okay, babe?”

You nod, your cheek rubbing over Henry’s cock, and it feels so perversely good that you do it again, turning your head to rub your mouth over it, letting your tongue press hot and damp at the material of his pants.

“Christ,” Henry curses and he shifts, working open the front of his pants, his hands sinking inside the open front to tug his cock out. He strokes it in front of you, and your cunt clenches for the sight of it, thick and long and—

 _Jesus,_ you think, you aren’t sure you’re going to be able to walk tomorrow.

Chris groans behind, his hips twitching forward. “Felt that,” he says and then pulls back—

The first thrust tips you forward, your chest pressing hard into the thick width of Henry’s thigh, your breasts rubbing against the couch, you cry out, gasping at the feeling of being filled up so quickly.

“ _Sh-hit_ ,” you whine. “ _F-fucking— Chris—_ ”

You grab at Henry’s cock, half for balance and half for the want to have him in your mouth the way you did for Chris. But all you can do is grip on, your breath puffing against it, Henry watching your face twist and your voice break as Chris sets a steady, unrelenting pace.

 _You were wrong_ , you think, this— _this_ is mind-wiping: the steady, almost too hard stroke of Chris’ cock inside of you, every knock of his hips against your ass, every bright flare of being too full before being emptied out again.

There’s a hand on your cheek, soothing over your forehead, right along your hairline, you can feel the heat in your face, the burn of your cheeks, but Chris’ cock is hard and thick and dragging in and out of you so perfectly that there’s nothing you can do but give in to it.

Every thrust in nudges that _too_ _much_ edge of fullness, that brief flicker of a sharpness, _maxed out,_ just like he said. Every dragging pull back is this moment of clawing desperation and anticipation for the next, stretching, filling push in.

Your back aches in the angle as Chris pulls your hips up a little higher, but it’s so good, that little counterpoint to the pleasure burning and building and dripping out of you.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Chris groans. “You’re soaked.”

And you are, you can feel it, a slickness between your thighs, and when Chris’ hand slides beneath you, his fingers rub slippery over your clit, soaked and over-sensitive and you can’t stop the pitching cries breaking out of your chest.

It’s _God_ and _Chris_ and _please—_ drawn-out whines you get lost in it, sparking and too hot, your back arching more, Chris’ strokes deep and steady and just bordering into too hard, shoving you down until it’s just your ass arched up, needy and trembling, your legs boneless and shaking.

Henry’s cock is thick, right against your cheek, but you don’t have anything in you to do more, your muscles quivering, burning up until that aching heat inside of you that’s building on every stroke of Chris’ cock, every smack of his hips against your ass, is bursting—

You tense up just before you come, your eyes squeezing shut, breathing in hot damp air in the curve of Henry’s lap and his cock in your hand, pressed against your cheek, his belt digging into your forehead.

Chris curses behind you as you lose your body to your orgasm and all it’s sparking edges, your hips winding up, pushing your ass a little higher, your feet hitting the arm of the couch like you can push away from that endless, prefect stroke of his cock—

But you can’t. Chris fucks you through it, harder than before, his arm wrapping beneath your hips to hold you up, Henry’s hand on your nape to keep you still—

Your near sobbing through it, strained, pitching cries as your toes curl and the nails of your other hand sink into Henry’s thigh.

Chris’ hips shove down, his voice rough and groaning as he comes, his cock twitching and pulsing on one last too deep, grinding thrust of his hips; pushing his weight against your ass in these slowing pulses just like his cock.

When he pulls back, the thickness of his cock leaving you makes you whimper, and he laughs, this rough, breathless laugh before his palm smacks down on your ass again and he drops back into the other half of the couch, dragging your legs into his lap.

You’re boneless, mindless, lost to that feeling inside of you, breathing hard— but you’ve barely caught the blown-apart edges of your mind before they’re flipping you over and manhandling you to face the other way.

You blink up at Chris.

“Fu--ck you guys,” you say breathless and weak, body still quivering. “Holy shit.”

He grins down at you, sweaty and dishevelled and your sure there’s some sort of dazed look in your eye because he breathes another laugh and leans down to kiss you. It’s awkward and messy, you’re both breathing too hard, but it distracts you for a moment until you feel the stretch in your thighs and the grip of Henry’s hands on your hips.

“Oh _god_ ,” you whine because there’s _no way_ you can go again, you think, but Henry’s mouth is on your breast and there’s this rolling sort of sound of his chest that’s a _sure you can, darling—_ as his teeth scrape your nipple before pulling it into his mouth.

Chris grins and brushes his hand over your forehead, and his eyes move from you to Henry and back.

“You felt so good, doll,” he starts and you blink up at him, your chest hitching up as Henry bites your nipple again before sucking a hard, bruising mark into the curve of your breast. “And your sounds---” he groans a little, dropping another biting kiss against your lips. “I can’t wait to hear them again.”

Your breath trips, your eyes flutter closed as that stupid spark in your gut starts to burn brighter.

You feel Henry’s hand slide along your thigh, sinking between your legs, his fingers slip over your clit and you twitch and gasp, squirming for the feeling tripping through you, but his hand turns and his fingers brush over the soaked mess of your cunt before they sink inside of you, steady and deep.

“Fucking _soaked,_ ” he groans roughly.

Your back strains up. “G-god—” you moan, the sound stretching into a whine as two of Henry’s fingers stretch inside of you, pushing deep and pulling back only to widen, working you open until he slides another finger along your entrance and you tense up, on edge for that stretch—

But you’re so wet it sinks inside of you like the sweetest sort of ache, leaving you gasping and hitching for air, pulling in little breaths as he curls his fingers, stretches them out, a teasing burst of electricity up your spine before that little ache of him stretching you out more.

You get a little lost in the rhythm of it, his mouth on your chest, kissing up your neck until his licks into your mouth— and it’s a distraction, this slow and deep kiss, until he’s leaning back on his knees and yanking you a little bit closer to his body until your head is just barely on Chris’ thigh and your legs are over Henry’s shoulders.

He strokes his cock and you can’t _not_ watch. Thick and heavy, his fingers shiny, spreading your slick over the length of his cock, and then he’s _scooping_ his fingers through your cunt again, getting his hand wetter, before stroking them once more over his cock—

You and Chris both choke on a groan, but it’s Chris who manages to get his brain to work. “ _Shit_ ,” he laughs. “This is way better than porn.”

Henry cocks an eyebrow, a crooked grin on his mouth before he hauls your leg a little higher on his shoulder and feeds his cock into you.

You tense up almost at once, hands gripping at the couch, nails scratching at the fabric, your head tilting back with a curse in your throat as Henry’s hips inch forward in these slow little pulses.

“Oh _god,_ ” you choke, _ohg-god—shi-tshit—_

It’s too much you think, there’s no way— no fingering of fucking or any amount of orgasms are going to make that less overwhelming, mind-consuming, _holy shit—_ you might just come just from that achingly good sort of pain, that too full, too bright stretch.

You try to cling onto the edges of your mind, biting your cheek and breathing hard, your chest quivering and whimpering when Chris gropes at your breast, kneading it and rolling your nipple along the side of his finger and thumb.

“You gotta let it out,” Chris says. “Come on, let us hear you.”

You shake your head, trying to breathe through it… but here’s no escaping it, Henry’s works his cock into you in little inching pulses— until you can feel the slicker glide of it, the easing stretch… the thick of his head is _just_ brushing the end of you. And it hurts in that good way that leaves you trembling, caught on the edge of wanting to pull away and dying to get more.

His eyes meet yours, he presses in a little more— eases back and does it again and again until you’re squirming to feel more. Until that ache is a softer thing, lingering beneath the weight of his cock inside of you.

When he hooks both of your knees over his shoulders, it drags your lower body up higher, leaving your head on Chris’ thigh, but letting you both watch the thick of his cock sinking inside of you as he drags his hips back and pushes in.

Your pretty sure that’s a sob in your throat and that Chris is saying something too you, but all you can feel is Henry’s cock, hitting you deep and steady as he sets this relentless, grinding sort of roll, his cock staying deep, keeping you stretched and full and pushing you right into that hazy fucking mess of _too much_ and _don’t stop._

“Babe,” Chris groans, dropping a kiss to your forehead. “Look at you.”

Your mound is soaked, your skin shiny all the way to your belly button, a slickness between your thighs that leaves a sticky shine on Henry’s abs on every rolling grind.

Your thighs are trembling on his shoulders, toes curling, legs quivering over the broadness they’re hooked over, but Henry leans back a little more, holding your thigh on his shoulder, the other curving to grip your ass cheek to hold you up higher, to keep you where he wants you.

 _Jesus_ , you think, or sob, you aren’t sure. Your body trembles, your voice breaking out of you as he pushes in again, deeper this time, his cock pushing against your cervix and leaving this ache between your hips that feels like your so fucking full of him he’s in your fucking _lungs_.

 _There it is,_ one of them says, but you can’t do anything but breathe and hold on, swallowed up the feeling, the ache, the burn of pleasure that’s less sparking and more like liquid heat, like you’re being consumed one slow, deep, too thick roll of his hips at a time.

He stays steady and deep, it’s not even really _fucking_ you think—there’s no ebbing tide, no room to breathe, his cock pushes steadily, thick and deep right against that too-deep ache that turns your insides into something molten and too hot… until your sure you’re almost sobbing with it, your spine winding up, higher and higher, the back of your head rubbing on Chris’ thigh…

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

Henry holds you steady, grinding into you, making you take it without any mercy. Without any real thrusts. Just a steady, little inching roll of his hips, almost this little, controlled-bounce of your ass against his lap.

Your thighs clench, muscles tensing as his cock burns you from the inside out, leaves you choking for air, hitching noises that you can’t describe, until everything’s burning brighter. Until your spine strains up, your chest shaking, your nails scratching at Chris’ forearm, clinging onto him as Henry fucks you through that building, consuming thing that feels like it’s going to eat you alive any second now.

His hand bruises into your thigh and ass as you lose your body to the fire, the thick of his cock pushing that ache deep in your gut, holding you still as you come apart. Cunt clenching as you sob, clamping down around his cock— and you’re choking for air as he fucks you through it, grinding into you, sending a sharper, deeper bust of that ache through your body.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he growls, _fuck—_ and it’s _too much_ , you think _, too much_ —

But he tilts forward and pushes into you, swallowing those sounds that you can’t hold in, a sloppy kiss that leaves you breathless, nails sinking into his ribs as his hips shove up in a rough grind as he comes.

You feel surrounded, Chris’ arm trapped between your body and Henry’s. Henry’s breath hot on your mouth when he kisses you one last time before pushing back and sinking back into the other side of the couch.

Your mind hums or the room does… or maybe it’s just your heartbeat in your ears, your body lost to the waves of whatever the fuck that was that’s still flowing through you.

Someone’s hand strokes over your stomach and it feels weird and too wet, and you have to tilt your head up and blink down to look at it to make sense of the feeling.

Chris trails his hand through the shine on your skin, the pooling liquid that gathers in your belly button and fucking _soaks_ the couch beneath you.

You blink at it, trying to make sense of it when Chris’ voice breaks the quiet.

“See,” he says roughly, hid fingers sliding through it. “You can _absolutely_ squirt. Fuckin’ look at that.”

You groan, feeling Henry’s hand on your leg, his thumb stroking your skin slowly. “Next time we’ll try for an actual squirt, yeah?”

You’re pretty sure you whimper, your stomach tensing with the idea of it, with the words _next time_ burning through you, but the silence stretches again; the wetness on your skin and soaking the couch, cools and makes your shiver. You don’t know if you have enough willpower to move out of the wet spot, let alone take a shower.

“Wait, we almost forgot,” Chris starts, and before you can squint up at him, his hand is up and Henry’s breathless, low laugh rolls through your still-boneless legs resting in his lap.

The slap of their hands echoes in the quiet and you groan, covering your face with your hands.

“I hate you both, oh my _god_.”

 _Lies_ , one of them says, but you’re all laughing tiredly, stuck together with no desire to move and you know it’s not true as Henry’s thumb strokes your ankle and Chris’ hand trails slowly, smoothly, through the mess on your stomach.

Not true at all.

 _Got ‘em,_ you think, and let your eyes close.

.

.

**Author's Note:**

> Working title of this fic was: this ain't a crossover, baby (but we are crossing swords)
> 
> because it made me laugh


End file.
